Outrageous Outlook
by xxStarBrightxx
Summary: Resigned to a strict regimen of self-loathing and whiskey, Stan makes some rather stupid decisions regarding his friends. Outtake from "Outrageous Fortune" to expand on Stan/Kyle sub-plot. Can be read on its own. Style, Stutters, implied Bunny. Oneshot. Smut.


**A/N: This story is a bit of an outtake to "Outrageous Fortune", my multichip Bunny fic. It can be read on it's own though, because it's a very different style and only has loose connections to the original.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

Stan wasn't quite sure how he ended up here. "Here," in the physical sense being leaned up against the fence in Heidi's backyard, drink in hand, being hit on by Butters of all people. "Here," in a more grand-scheme-of-things sense, was lamenting his misfortune, trying to reconcile the part of him that had a logical mistrust of his own heart, and the other part that was, frankly, a bit of a pansy. Never let it be said that Stan Marsh was not a romantic. He was, in fact, a hopeless romantic with a bit of a dramatic side and a habit of drinking his way into awkward situations.

It began when he and Wendy ended. She had been drifting away for a while, but he hadn't really noticed. That's how Stan was, always a bit clueless when it came to interpersonal relationships. He always had to get updates on his own love life from other people. So when Cartman (it had to be fucking Cartman, didn't it?) finally clued him into his own girlfriend's fading interest, he resigned himself to a strict regimen of self-loathing and whiskey.

This would have been manageable enough, had he had the support of his friends. But Kenny was on a bender of his own at the time. God knows why, although Stan had a suspicion that it had something to do with the boner his friend had been nursing for Butters. It didn't help that Cartman had tricked the naïve bastard into getting drunk and losing his v-card to some random dude at a party. Kenny was under the impression that Stan and Kyle not only knew about Cartman's plan (which was, regrettably, true), but had simply let it happen out of pure neglect. Which was not entirely true. They had tried to talk Cartman out of it, and even tried (feebly) to warn Butters, but foiling one of Cartman's schemes was kind of like having a stranger run up to you and hand you a million bucks. In other words, it didn't happen. Or if it did, it was likely to be stolen money or some shit, and it would probably come back to bite you in the ass eventually.

As far as Stan was concerned, hearing Cartman brag about his brilliant plot for several weeks following the event was punishment enough.

Regardless, Kenny wasn't talking to him, and was probably too fucked up to be very helpful anyway. Which sucked, because Stan always liked how good of a listener Kenny was.

Normally, Kyle would have been Stan's go-to for post-break up woes. His life-long best friend ought to know how to support him and all that shit. But things had gotten a little…hairy in that area.

Stan was only recently coming to terms with his sexuality. To be clear: being gay in South Park was something of a seasonal cold. It caught quickly, but didn't always last. It was not uncommon in this town for someone to be a_ little_ gay, or to have had a gay _moment_, or a story about that one gay thing they did that one time, or even be in a gay relationship occasionally. Howver since Mr. Slvae and Big Gay Al move to L.A., it became decidedly strange, to identify as one hundred percent _completely fucking gay_. At least, this was true as far as Stan knew, making him the glaring exception (although he did have his suspicions about Craig). That, he believed, was what led him to drink that particular night.

That, and Kyle. Who was straight. The straightest guy Stan knew, in fact. Kyle held down more actual relationships with women than any of his friends combined. He was distinctly _masculine, _never once showing any sign of flamboyancy (this, of course, is not necessarily an indication of sexual preference, but Stan does not know this). Not even when they were kids and that kind of thing was a lot less awkward. He was known to charm the ladies quite well, too. Not with the kind of indiscriminate leg-humping libido that Kenny exhibited, but Kyle had his charismatic moments. Fuck, he never even went through that metro-sexual phase that was all the rage among the boys in elementary school (this probably had more to do with Kyle's inability to follow fads, but again, Stan quite didn't see it that way).

So one afternoon, when Stan caught himself (in a rare sober-ish moment of clarity) jacking off to an old Facebook photo of Kyle mooning the cheerleaders, he did the only thing he could think to do in his moment of pure panic. In a distinctly dramatic fashion that could only be described as Randy-esque, Stan yelped and fell backward in his computer chair, resurfacing with a bottle of Jamison in his hand.

Two hours and half a bottle of whiskey later, Stan found himself wiping vomit from his chin while he threw increasingly large pebbles at his best friend's window. Why? He wasn't entirely sure. Something his drunken mind wanted to prove, probably. No, he was most certainly not in love with his very straight best friend. The incident with the picture was just one of those weird gay moments that everybody had every once in a while.

And so, apparently, were the next two hours, in which he proceeded to throw himself at Kyle in a painfully inebriated and hardly intelligible manner. His best friend barely raised an eyebrow over the fuss he was making, shushing only when he got so loud that Kyle worried about his parents barging in to see if everything was alright.

Kyle finally managed (after two cups of coffee and a little bit of puking) to sober Stan up enough to have a proper conversation. This eventually devolved to Stan staunchly refusing to say anything, his logical side catching up to his drunkenness, for fear of revealing his earlier indiscretion regarding his masturbatory antics.

Which, of course, was not suspicious at all.

This devolved further to Kyle holding Stan in a comforting—albeit awkward—hug while Stan cried about how the world was shit "and I love you, dude. I mean, I fucking hate you, but I love you too, you know?"

"Sure, Stan," was all Kyle could think to say.

They eventually fell asleep like that, waking up around midnight when Ike started blaring his (in Kyle's opinion) fucking weird music next door. Kyle got up and banged on the wall, telling him to turn it down while Stan shamelessly checked out his ass (he was still a little buzzed). Kyle turned around, catching Stan mid-ogle.

Which was when the real trouble started.

"Were you just looking at my ass?"

"You do have a great fucking ass…" Stan murmured (once again, Stan was still a bit drunk at this point). He hung his head and started fidgeting like a small child that'd been caught eating treats before dinner.

"You're so gay, dude," Kyle dismissed, smiling. He meant this as a simple jab, but something in Stan's mind just kind of snapped, and all thought processes and previous logic broke down, leaving only his stupidly desperate infatuation in its wake.

Stan crawled over to where Kyle stood by the wall and knelt in front of him. He looked up at him with big eyes and a childlike expression. "What if I am?" he asked, sounding innocent, almost whimsical.

Kyle shifted his feet, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "Uh, I don't know, dude, I guess that's your business, then. Not like I'd have a problem with it." Stan considered this, then reached out to stroke Kyle's leg, moving his hand upward slowly.

"What if I _want_ it to be your business?" As he said the last word, Stan made a sudden grab at Kyle's crotch.

"_Whatareyoudoing_?" Kyle breathed in a rush, flinching backward.

"Whatever you want me to do, Kyle." He fumbled with Kyle's zipper, somehow thinking that if he could just get Kyle'd dick out, he could get away with whatever he was trying to do. Stan wasn't even quite sure what that was yet.

"Dude, what the hell?" Kyle yelped, smacking Stan's hand away. "You're drunk!"

"I'm sober enough!" Stan defended. He stood up and pulled Kyle forward by his shirt. "I've thought about this sober too, dude." And then he sloppily mashed his lips into Kyle's.

Kyle let out a muffled protest, but even in this state, Stan was stronger (and more determined). "Just-just lemme try something," he mumbled against Kyle's lips. Slowly, he backed Kyle onto the bed, having him sit down while Stan sunk to his knees again.

"Stan…"

"Shh, just lemme _try_ something." Stan eyed his hesitant and confused friend sternly as he resumed his efforts in removing his companion's pants.

The next ten minutes would forever live on in Kyle's memory as "the weirdest first blowjob mankind has ever known." Stan, bless him, tried his best, but being woefully inexperienced in this area himself, just ended up making the whole ordeal even more awkward than before.

When he was finished—stone cold sober at this point—Stan retreated to the bathroom to rinse out his mouth, avoiding Kyle's gaze as long as he could. Kyle, downright dumbfounded, changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed, deciding that things had gotten too fucking weird for him, and it was time to just call it a night and hope things made better sense in the morning. Stan left after catching sight of Kyle's sleeping form, figuring he'd already fucked things up enough for one night, it was time to go home.

This behavior continued in various reincarnations over the next couple of weeks. Stan would get shitfaced over unholy thoughts about his best friend, then proceed to try and make those thoughts a reality. Kyle would try in vain to halt Stan's advances, for fear of not only screwing up their friendship but also taking advantage of a drunken man. Stan continued to proclaim that he was "sober enough" and press on, consequences be damned.

The last night this happened, both parties were completely sober. How it happened, neither was sure, but somehow they ended up making out on Kyle's bed, trying desperately to reason to themselves that it wouldn't matter in the morning. But Kyle wasn't sure he'd ever get the image of Stan kissing down his stomach while sliding off the former's pants out of his head. Stan was sure that the taste of Kyle's sweat and cum would forever be branded in his mind. Kyle's sloppy attempt to return the favor with uneven strokes of his hand was a bit of a Kodak moment for the both of them.

When it was over, they lay side-by-side without speaking. It was late, and eventually the tension melted into tiredness and the two fell asleep. Stan dreamed of a theatrical profession of love from Kyle at a school dance. Kyle dreamed about Boston Crème donuts that kept exploding in his face.

The pair was woken by the sound of Kyle's phone going off.

"Hello?" he answered sleepily. Stan could hear the faint murmurs of a voice on the other end, but was too sleepy to process words.

"Wait…what?" Kyle asked groggily. "Butters, its like three am, what's going on?" Stan rolled over to face Kyle, the strangeness of the situation finally setting in.

"Look, Butters, it's really late. Can't this wait until tomorrow?" Stan sighed. It was just like Butters to call in a panic over something little (this was, in fact, very much _not_ like Butters, but Stan wasn't terribly observant when it came to other people's behavior). There were more murmurs on the other end, the tone shifting from timid to annoyed.

"_Jesus Christ_," Kyle sighed. "Butters, Kenny and I aren't exactly on speaking terms right now…" That got Stan's attention.

"What's going on?" he whispered.

Kyle put his hand over the mic and whispered back, "Kenny's coming down off his bender, I guess. Butters wants us to help out." Stan paused, blinking. Kenny was pissed at them, for one, and let's be honest here, he didn't seem to give a rat's ass about Stan's issues at the moment, so why the fuck would Stan get involved in his?

"Is he being fucking serious?" Stan spat.

Butter's voice, muffled continued to get angrier. Stan caught bits and pieces, but it was enough for him to realize that he wouldn't let up anytime soon. "_Ain't you guys s'posed to be friends?_" He heard clearly. "…_he needs help_."

Stan waited until Butters was done with his speech, then took the phone from Kyle.

"We'll be right over," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The next two weeks were occupied with Operation: Bring the Old Kenny Back. It was a pretty gut-wrenching experience for Stan and Kyle, and seeing their friend in such a state was enough to not only distract them from their current issues, but also bring them back down to earth. They both were keenly aware of the way that Butters stuck firmly by Kenny's side, and the moments when a certain glance or gesture between them rang distinctly tender, it triggered a knowing look shared between Stan and Kyle. It was eerie to see this easy bond form between their friends when there was still so much tension between themselves. Not that Kenny and Butters were _dating _or anything, but it made Stan wonder about the thin line between friendship and…other things.

Eventually, the whole ordeal came to an end, and without the distraction of Kenny's problems, Stan and Kyle were left to contemplate their own dilemma.

Kyle took Kenny's mess to heart. They had always taken Kenny for granted, for some reason seeing him as an invincible force. He'll always be around, they assumed. So this situation became a warning. Friendships are precious, and should not be fucked with. So he did the only think he could think of: he shut Stan out. He would still be amicable in class, but his window remained firmly locked whenever Stan tried to sneak over in the middle of the night. He didn't want to taint his best friendship with weird encounters and strange feelings.

Stan, of course, took this to be flat out rejection. He spent many nights locked up in his room with the lights off, blinds closed, taking measured sips of whiskey while writing an embarrassingly large amount of bad poetry about being misunderstood and undesirable.

You know, because he's kind of a dramatic little fuck.

Anyway, all of this alcohol he was buying from a senior in his art class was cutting into his savings, and Stan got a bit worried that his dad might notice his liquor slowly disappearing, so he did what any teenager does when they want to get drunk but don't have money. They find a party. Which was convenient, because right around this time, Heidi was throwing a lot of parties.

Stan made a beeline for the kitchen the minute Heidi opened the door to let him in. He barely waved hello to her before he was already cracking open a beer. Not his first choice, but the only liquor she had was girlie drinks like cherry flavored vodka. And even he wasn't _that_ gay.

The party was in full swing, but Stan wasn't really feeling the whole socializing thing right now, so he made his way to the backyard to have a smoke by the fence, away from the crowd. He wasn't expecting anyone to approach him. And he really wasn't expecting Butters to lean against the fence next to him, a pink-colored daiquiri in hand.

"Hiya, S-Stan, didn't expect to see you here." He was clearly wasted. His cheeks were flushed and he kept swaying on his feet and giggling. He resembled the antithesis of Stan's mood.

"Hey, Butters, what's up?" Stan asked apathetically.

"Oh, not too much." Butters put a hand on Stan's shoulder to keep from swaying. Stan polished off his beer, avoiding eye contact. "G-gee, Stan, what are ya doin' out here by your lonesome?" Stan snorted.

"Just having a beer. Not really in the mood to talk." Butters didn't take the hint.

"Well, here, lemme getcha another."

Halfway through his second beer, Stan started chatting with Butters. He was really easy to talk to, he supposed. Butters was the type of person to just ramble on about little things, never prying into his companion's thoughts. It was a nice reprieve from Stan's own mind.

By the time he finished his fourth beer, he was sitting next to Butters, leaned up against the fence and laughing amiably. It was the best he'd felt in ages, actually.

"Wait, really, _Annie?"_ Stan probed. "I always thought she was kind of a prude, actually."

Butters shook his head. "Yup, a cute lil' stud in her belly button." He giggled. "We kinda fell asleep, though, so I didn't get to see if she had anymore piercin's."

"Jesus Christ, you sound like Kenny," Stan mumbled, opening up a fifth can. Butter's smile faltered a bit. "Gotta say, though, I'm a bit surprised you're hooking up with girls at all."

Butters cocked his head to the side. "Why's that?"

"Well," Stan glanced at him, speaking carefully. "I guess I just kinda always assumed…"

Butters frowned. "Everybody _assumes_ things 'bout me." He took a sip of his drink and winked at Stan. "But I like ta surprise people now and again." He leaned over and planted a wet kiss on Stan's mouth.

Stan blanched, rearing back. "_What the fuck was that_?" he nearly shouted. He quickly wiped his mouth, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed. Everyone seemed pretty preoccupied with a game of beer pong on the deck to care about anything else.

Butters rolled his eyes. "Stan, I may be a bit sheltered, but I ain't _stupid_." He reached out to touch Stan's face. "You're real handsome, ya know. And I've got a feelin' you've got a couple 'a…questions." He shrugged and removed his hand. "If you just ain't into _me_, that's fine. I just figured we could have some fun." He stood up and started to walk away, leaving Stan dazed and reeling.

"Wait!" he called, unsure why. Butters turned around, a bit of a smirk that looked so goddamn much like Kenny's playing on his face. "I, um…what do you mean by questions?"

Butters smiled kindly. "Stan, there's nothin' wrong with bein' a bit confused. And there's nothin' wrong with doin' some experimentin' to figure things out. That's what friends are for right?" Stan frowned. He didn't really agree with that last statement, neither the part about experimenting with friends nor the implication that that's what they gestured toward the house. "Wanna discuss this some place else?"

Stan glanced around the yard, then nodded. The backyard was way too public a place to talk about this kind of thing.

Butters led Stan up into the guest bedroom. Stan didn't want to ask how he knew where it was. He locked the door and sat on the bed, gesturing for Stan to join him. When Stan hesitated he rolled his eyes again. "Jeeze, Stan, I ain't gonna rape ya or nothin'." Stan sat down cautiously.

"I'm gay," he confessed quietly, head down. Butters nodded. "And, uh, Kyle's not."

"Oh," Butters replied gently. "Have ya talked ta him 'bout it?"

Stan shook his head. "I kinda threw myself at him, actually."

"How'd that go?"

"Miserably." Stan put his head in his hands. "I'm pretty sure he hates me." Butters frowned, putting an arm over Stan's shoulders.

"Hey now, that's not true. You guys always seem to get along well in school," he soothed.

"Yeah, but he avoids me like the plague the rest of the time. I really fucked things up, dude."

"C'mere," Butters murmured, opening up his arms. Stan fell into the hug, abandoning previous inhibitions. "There ya go," Butters said gently. "It's all gonna work out. You guys are like super-duper best friends! You'll get through this. Even if he don't feel the same way—and from the looks of it, that's a big ol' _if_, mister—you guys can still be friends. Maybe he's just a little freaked out right now." Stan sniffed into Butter's shoulder.

"I _was_ kind of freaky," he admitted, composing himself. Something about Butters was just so damn calming.

"I bet you were," Butters chuckled cheekily.

Stan smirked and sat up. "Kenny is a damn bad influence on you, kid." Butters shoved him playfully, pushing him down on the mattress.

"How do you know I ain't just a bad egg?" He pinned Stan's arms above his head and grinned. "So whatdya say about a little…" he pressed a light kiss to Stan's neck. "…stress release?" Stan shuddered, wondering how they were both gonna feel about this in the morning, when they were sober. Butters' hand trailed along his side slowly, raising goosebumps.

Ah, fuck it.

Stan pressed his lips to Butters', shoving his tongue roughly into his mouth. Butters took this as encouragement and slowly climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. Stan moaned.

"What're ya into?" Butters breathed into Stan's ear.

"Huh?" Stan started playing with the hem of Butter's shirt, wondering if his chest would feel like Kyle's had when it was pressed against his.

"Whatdya like?" Butters asked, breathing heavy. "Whatdya wanna do?"

"Uh," Stan's mind wasn't quite functioning properly. Butter's lips tasted so much sweeter that Kyle's, almost sickeningly sweet from the drink he'd had. "I-I don't know." Butters pulled back, looking Stan in the eye.

"You ever been with a boy before?" he asked innocently.

Stan blushed fiercely. "Uh, I've done…some stuff." He didn't really feel like going into detail about his awkward attempts to seduce Kyle with Butters. "Given blowjobs…" he whispered. Butters didn't even blink.

"Did you like that? Is that somethin' you'd wanna do?" he asked. "It's up to you, Stan. I'm up for anything." He trailed soft kisses along Stan's jawline.

_Anything_. Something told Stan that Butters really meant that when he said it. "I wanna try something," he whispered in a rush, afraid he might back down if he hesitated.

"Yeah? What is it?"

Stan swallowed. "I want you to…" He couldn't quite force out the words. God, how did people do this? It wasn't even dirty talk, just a simple statement.

Butters sensed his apprehension and whispered a suggestion in his ear. Stan nodded. Butter smiled and sat up a bit. "Only if you're sure," he said firmly. "You gotta be sure." Stan nodded again.

"Yeah, I am," he croaked. Butters nodded and took off his shirt.

"Good."

Their clothes came of slowly, hesitantly on Stan's part. He noticed that Butters spent a lot more time kissing things like his neck or chest then his lips, a clear indicator that Butters' usual affinity for physical affection did not mesh well with the lack of romantic involvement with this partner. Stan did not read into this in such a way, only to wonder if Butters had ever kissed someone with as much ferocity and genuine emotion that he'd kissed Kyle with.

When Butters began to stroke him slowly, making his way down Stan's body with kisses and licks and nibbles Stan began to wonder how the boy had gotten so good at this. And he wondered how terrible his blowjobs must have been in comparison when Butters started to suck on the head of his cock.

Stan let out a garbled moan and arched back. _Shit_, he kept thinking. _Fucking shit._ Butters hummed around him, making Stan shudder. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that maybe he should be taking notes. Butters gently began to ease a finger inside of him. Stan yelped, but forced himself to relax as Butters continued to prep him. After a while, Stan turned around, content to imagine that it was someone else kissing the back of his neck and reaching for a condom, someone with a deeper voice and rougher lips and red hair.

After a lot of lube, and a couple more "Are ya sure?"'s Butters finally moved inside of him. Stan dug his nails into the bed, briefly lamenting on the fact that the naïve kid they'd once gotten to dress up as a girl to infiltrate the girls' slumber party was now fucking him up the ass.

God, if Cartman ever found out.

Stan didn't last terribly long. After a few minutes of pumping and stroking, he came all over the sheets, leaving what was sure to be a strange stain for Heidi to find later. Butters hurried himself along, finishing inside of Stan. They collapsed in a heap on the bed, gasping for air.

"You're, um, really good at that," Stan muttered appreciatively. He wasn't really sure how people said goodbye after this sort of thing. He had a feeling you were supposed to stick around for at least a little while, but it was getting a bit uncomfortable. He just wanted to go home and go to bed.

Butters beamed, even though Stan couldn't see it. "Well, thank ya, Stan! You're not so bad, yourself!" He pulled out slowly, trying in vain to not make an even bigger mess on the sheets. After cleaning themselves up as best as they could in the adjoining bathroom in silence, Butters reached out to Stan for a hug. Kind of weird, Stan thought, but not unpleasant. Butters kind of clung to him, smiling like an idiot and chatting amiably. He got a weird feeling that Butters wasn't really _right_ just then. Something was off, but Stan couldn't figure it out (it was, in fact, a combination of Butters' need for attention, desperation for physical affection, obsession with pleasing people, and low-self esteem that led him to cling to people in anyway possible without creating any truly meaningful relationships along the way which resulted in a pervasive loneliness—but Stan wasn't the type to pick up on that). It left him to wonder why he as doing this sort of thing anyway. It was kind of fucked up. But, then again, Stan was doing—or rather, had just done—it with him, so he supposed that made him a bit fucked up, too.

But he already knew that.

In the coming weeks, Stan would try to act as normal as possible around Butters. The former seemed to have no problem with acting as though nothing had happened, but Stan still felt a lingering embarrassment. At the very least, he started to loosen up in his own skin. Nothing could possibly be weirder than a one-night stand with _Butters,_ you know? So he figured he could handle just about any situation his heart (or his dick) got him into at this point.

He and Kyle would eventually reconcile. They would finally sit down and discuss everything like fucking adults and come to the conclusion that nothing would ever get in the way of their friendship. They would resolve to take things slow and see what happens. Then they would probably end up going steady, Butters figured, as he watched them pass notes in class, their fingers lingering at the slight touch as the paper switched hands. They might even get married, and adopt a couple of kids. They would have Thanksgiving dinner at a big table at their house and invite their families over and the kids would run around and the adults would squabble and chat. They would live happily ever after or whatever. Butters wondered if they would ever glance through an old yearbook at some point, and pause over the picture of their former classmate to wonder where he ended up. Would they keep in touch with him at all? Send a Christmas card, maybe? Would he be accredited, in either of their minds, with getting Stan to finally come to terms with himself?

Probably not, he figured. They just didn't see things that way.

**A/N: So, yeah that ending came out of nowhere. **

**Like I said, this is more or less and outtake from "Outrageous Fortune", which is narrated by Butters, so I felt like I needed to tie in his POV in some fashion. This story doesn't really have too much of a point, but I hope you liked it regardless. It was my first lemon (if you can call that a lemon), and I know most people see Stan on top, but for some reason I always pictured him as a bottom, especially if he's with Kyle ('cause Kyle's so angry and stuff, I totally picture him pounding the shit out of Stan when he's had a bad day) so I thought it'd be kinda fun to switch things up.**

**Anyway, let me know what you think, and if you haven't already, I'd love for people to checkout "Outrageous Fortune". It's very different, but I'm a bit unabashedly proud of it haha **


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